Dead End
by aryasastark
Summary: After a near-death experience, Collette struggles to find the person who saved her, and when she does, she discovers he is nothing she had envisioned him to be: A supervillian.
1. Chapter 1

_(So, I decided to write up a new story, I'll update my others soon; I promise! But this idea has been brewing for the longest time now, and I've been holding it off but I can't anymore, and I just needed to type it down because I always have this manic fear that it'll just slip away from me someday. But any who, I'm reeeeeeally excited to begin on it; and I hope you enjoy it. ) _

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The evening air was nipping at her cheeks. The faint taste of peach-flavored tea wavered in her mouth. She knew she should not have had that second mug, but it was all too delicious, and she rewarded herself, devouring the citrusy drink; after all, she had worked double shift. She never had one negative thing to say about her job however, it was an antique store. The contents of the little shop were exquisite. And she always felt that if she held them too hard or even looked at them for too long they would shatter into a million unfixable pieces.

She didn't mind the loneliness of the road, and the city was very much alive as it always was, it was New York after all. She had grown to love the bustling roads. But there was something exceptionally unusual about tonight. She stood outside the shop, quickly pulling off her name-tag; the name Collette was faded badly for she worked there for now three years. And it was a nice job, a job she loved enough to continue working despite it not paying very well.

Collette felt eerie, as if a set of eyes were watching her. During times like these she wished she had a car, to drive away from scenes like these without a splice of fear or hesitation.

Her home was only two blocks away now, and she kept herself soothed by the rhythmic sound of her clamping heels, listening to them with great concentration as she made her way further and further into the desolate path of her home.

She took a short-cut using a cramped alley-way, the hazy orange light illuminated the smoggy boundary, and it was cramped and humid despite it being the middle of winter. The large garbage cans were a slimy shade of green and casted unfriendly long shadows making it hard for her to see her surroundings.

Her thoughts dwindled down back into the corners of her mind as a silhouette lingered toward her.

Collette's calm disposition suddenly had a malfunction. But she remained in a state of silence; she took this path whenever it was too cold for her to walk the full two-blocks. This route way led into the parking lot of her apartment complex but she was always too bothered by the unpleasant buzzing of the streetlamps to take it regularly.

If you weren't so lazy, if you just walked an extra block you wouldn't be in this predicament. It's not even that cold. It's late but if you weren't such a stupid, stupid, reckless idiot and decided to take an extra peach tea you could've caught a ride with Charlotte.

The rambling of her panicked mind was shut up as the person came to a sharp halt, facing her. A man, a very old man glared at her. His face was tarnished from what seemed to be old age and exhaustion. He had a mad, frantic look in his eyes that was glazed with a manifest of violence. His hair looked like thin little wires poking out from his leathery scalp. His lips were shaped in a contort snarl, like a dog suffering rabies preparing to lunge. His teeth were a rotten dirt color, each a different shade, one even missing.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, Charlotte asked twice she asked twice "are you sure you don't need a ride home?" idiot, idiot, idiot.

"Um, excuse me.. sir, I'm sorry. I just, my apartment is.. in my way. I mean, you're in my way. Blocking my path, and you see, my apartment is right there!" her hand flung up, pointing at the parking lot just meters away, but her hands were shaking too much to direct where she was heading.

He was in the middle of her path, just staring, a lost look in his eyes, no response. But he stepped closer.

"Sir?" Colette's voice was stuttering now, quivering. Her hand wandered into her purse, slowly, quietly not peeling her eyes off the man. Her shaking hand struggled in search of her pepper spray that she had received from her father after she moved out; she remembered laughing at the good-bye present but now, it seemed as if it were the only thing that could save her life.

The man's hands were tucked behind his back, hiding something.

And in one swoop, he grinned, displaying the two hidden objects: a blunt knife and a sharp rock. On his left arm his flannel sleeve was tucked up to his wrist, exposing the flesh which was a bruised shade of purple, with needle marks coding every area. "The knife. Or the rock. Which one?"

Collette reassessed the situation she was presented with. She remembered she left the pepper-spray in her other satchel. Which was at her home.

"Please.. please, just let me.. go. I.." The pleas began, softly at first; as if she were making a simple transaction. Then they quickly became shrieks, whimpers, offers of money, of anything. Just an exchange for her life.

He cackled, his mouth wide, giving her a full view of his teeth, which all were infested with cavities, like little individual sinkholes on each of his teeth. "Listen, I'm just going to pick the knife.." As she tried to break out into an escape he pushed down on her like a stone wall. Her panic wasn't making it easier for her, she was jittery and it only made it harder to achieve her objective; of escaping less and less possible.

"Just please let me go. Please sir, I will do anything. Please."

Growing tired of her vacant promises, he swung the pointy edge of the rock at her, but missed as she leapt forward, swinging back at him, fists whizzing in all directions, her instinctive reaction solidified into something useful, as she swung she knobbed him in the face, enough weight to knock him over. Although she was scrawny and small, she was lucky to have such a strong reflex.

He darted to the ground, and pulled her ankle, tugging her down; she tumbled into the gravel, groaning as she did so, each individual rock pierced her back. And a trickle of oozing red goo slithered down her neck, from her skull. Collette had stumbled right on the hedge of a broken beer bottle, the shards of glass digging into her scalp. She tried kicked back into action, ready to spring back into her defensive-mode but realized her fight was over. She heard as he dragged himself up from the ground, she heard his compressed moan. He sat on her chest, compressing down against her, his legs elongated pushing down her arms with his bare, dirty feet. He held the dull knife in his closed fist, gripping it so hard that his knuckles pulled into a pearly shade of white. This would be painful, she knew. The knife was rounded, like a spoon. He'd have to slice her at least seven times just to cause an actual scratch.

A salty layer of sweat drizzled all along her face, glistening against the light of the streetlamps. She was pretty, he thought. Pretty like her. Like his ex-fiancé. Pretty. Not as round as her. She had a brown eyes though, murky looking and not as pure as his ex. And her lips were thin, like lines on a paper. And her breasts weren't as round, but it was enough for him to grope. As his hand glided along her chest, he grinned, baring his filthy teeth.

She shut her eyes, feeling the blood curl around her skull. Instead of drizzling, it was now pooling out. She was growing light-headed, happy she couldn't feel the humiliation of being groped or the actual, physical touch. She was too numb to soak up the reality of what had unfolded in less than 10 minutes.

She felt a light weight release from her chest. This is it.

Her eyelids fluttered open; she felt a pang of sadness dwell in her heart, that the last place she would see on earth were the polluted lights of an alleyway. To her shock, he was gone. But someone else was standing staring at her. He was.. wearing. A dark purple.. suit? Not just any suit but.. a super-hero suit. But it didn't look very.. super-hero-ish. If anything, it looked evil.

His eyes were rounded, like the moon, she thought, her train of thought not rational.

She wasn't sure if it was because she losing her consciousness or because he really just a gaunt superhero/villain/pigment of her imagination/whatever. With the moon for his eyes, but she was almost positive that this vision strung from her loss of blood.

And in that thought, the world around fizzled into a grey slog before demolishing itself into complete and total darkness

Nothing fascinated him or drew his attention anymore; just the prospect of getting back at Kickass and Hit-girl. That was all that occupied his feverish thoughts now. He still enjoyed watching the city around him though, sometimes had an urgent desire to cast a fight with someone, and filled that hunger with fighting a major dope dealer who thought he was 'the shit'. He knew the people who laughed about him, "Red-Mist? Yeah that's just some pussy dressed in tights. It's a damn trend that's all." He wasn't a trend and not one to be tampered with either.

He wasn't Red-Mist either, no, that was over. Red-Mist meant he still had some thread of alliance with Hit-girl and Kickass and that was drained away now.

He sat on the roof of a building, in a more reserved part of the area. It was dark here and the parking lot across was empty. He gnawed in the inside of his cheek, thinking and plotting.

Something caught his eye though, a girl. Not too far away, in fact, she was making her way through the alley below. She didn't see him from so far away, his new suit blended in convincingly with the evening. He sat back down, over-looking the view of the small homes around, a suburban labyrinth of middle-class homes, further down the road the slums began to trail along, housing the third class families, he pitied them. Living a life of luxury was the norm for Chris, he had never tasted the plague of living in poverty.

He heard a sudden shriek. A grand amusement expanded in him. He perched on the ledge of the building, watching, his lips twisting into a devilish smirk.

The girl was shriveled up in a pool of blubbering fear, her left hand digging into her purse searching for something. A phone perhaps, but what was the point she was obviously stuck in a harsh situation? Even if she did get the phone it would probably only enrage the man attempting to harm her.

He clenched his grin, his eyes reflected a glassy joy, he loved running across crimes in the city; especially this late at night.

The action finally began, she had good reflex, he couldn't hear anything except her pathetic whimpering, he didn't see anything either. Which disappointed him, they weren't close enough to the dim street lamp, so he could only see the outline of the two figures. She was a feeble stick compared to him. Although the man had a limp it was evident in the way he lunged at her that he was stronger than her, strong enough to snap her neck and leave her lifeless corpse laying there like it was nothing. Not a human. Not even animal. Just a mass of bones and skin.

As she leapt away like a terrified jack-rabbit the man regained his strength, heaving and coughing before he plopped down on her chest, Chris was thoroughly surprised he hadn't heard a series of cracks as he did so. But she turned a ghoulish color, a puddle of her own cherry-red plasma exuded around her head, her hair, which was divided into the splurge, sinking in the mounting pool of red liquid, just as the confused man dug into his pocket in search of either the rock or knife he had previously offered her, Chris assumed the man had decided to use the knife, to release some of his building anger.

And he was right.

Just as the man finally dug it out of his denim jacket, in one swift stride, Chris flew from the ledge of the building, using his cape to glide down onto a dumpster, mooring soundly on the face of the metal lid. He disengaged a fastened dagger-like knife in the interior of his cape; as he raised the knife, the steel radiated a blinding flash in the small amount of light that the flickering street-lamp offered.

In a half-swing of his hand, the pointed knife hit his target in the neck, burying deep in his esophagus and callously cutting into his flesh, for a moment, he sat there. Motionless, wavering, and just as quickly as he pierced the man, he demolished onto the ground, with a loud thump.

Chris was a bit saddened that he wouldn't get that dagger back, but he reminded himself it was just one in his collection of hundreds.

He retreated forward, toward the girl. She laid, her chest rising and falling. Chris didn't know why he sprang into action like that, typically, he sat, grinning and watching as the casualties begged and begged. But whoever this girl was, seemed to accept her fate very quickly, she sobbed some, begged a bit. And then slumped down like road-kill. Although he wasn't a big fan of people like that, there was something peculiar about her. Something that tugged on him, like an invisible string.

She was pretty, no, that was a complete understatement. She was beautiful to say the least, even in a scene this bloody and unfortunate. She watched him; he had never seen someone observe him, not in this intensity, her eyes were a chestnut brown, warm and kind compared the bitter winter around them. And slowly, her blinks became longer and longer, until her eyes fully closed.

She was still alive, he wouldn't let her die. Not here. He didn't know what inside of him wanted to protect this girl so much, but he had little to no control over it.

Now what?

He had never seen her before, he didn't know her name. But he had caught something, she lived in one of the apartments here, she cut across the alley to get into the parking lot of the apartment complex.

He couldn't leave her here. A part of him was speechless in spiting anger; she had no name. He wasted s great knife on her. She was stupid, she had gotten herself in this situation, and she had a chance to fight back. But she just sat there, looking like a deer in the headlights instead of trying.

But in this internal conflict, he scooped her frail being into his arms. She was still bleeding, really small. And she smelled of metallic liquid. But the trace of her natural scent of almonds and a type of floral fragrance he couldn't categorize. She smelled nice. He chained those thoughts, and sentimental emotions, locking it up and throwing the key away.

With his free hand he dug into her purse, grabbing her wallet and with some fumbling around, found her license.

Her name was Collette Marie Jean, the nineteen year old who lived in Garden Hollow, apartment 29. Her eyes, were actually hazel. Her hair which was undistinguishable currently because of the amount of blood crusting around it was naturally brown. And she was from New York, New York. And more alone than anyone could ever be.


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm so glad everyone is enjoying this story; I'm still writing the outline and plotting out the upcoming chapters. Thank you for the review, it sweetened my day. I hope to write two more chapters by the end of this week since I'm on Spring break currentl_y.

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She woke early the next morning, the sun was just rising, and a marmalade shade of orange coded the sky.

Despite being wide awake, she felt as if she was still in her sedated state of sleep. Her eyes burned from both the searing sun, peering through her window and the tears she had shed just hours ago, and a layer of these dried, sticky tears caused her cheeks to itch. Her skull hurt too, along with every limb and every patch of skin. Her shaking fingers travelled up to tangled hair, and there she felt stitches. Woven perfectly, bundling the incrusted blood. It had happened, she hoped it was a dream but it wasn't. It wasn't a state of trance or something she glued together in boredom.

The physical evidence was there to break the hope of it being a bad dream. She wished it was, dreams left and sunk away but this memory would glue to her and scar her; for the rest of her days.

She should've been dead right now. In the alleyway absorbed in the limelight of cameras belonging to investigators and news anchors. Her body mangled like a piece of chopped raw meat, her face plain, seemingly asleep. But the life drained away from her. She should've been dead.

But someone was there. Someone pulled that man off her. What did that person do to him? Because she faintly remembered him hunching over to the side.

She lifted herself up, with a great struggle causing a grunt to escape from her dry, blistered lips. It would've been on the news, a great, suspenseful story for the media to gnaw at. It would be a good story, for a week or so and then it would die down with some other bizarre story taking its place. But Collette was always one to point fingers at people like this, how she would never fall into such a dangerous circumstance.

She grabbed for a water bottle on the table, one she left on the table nights before. She quickly suckled it down, relief washed throughout her.

Turning on the television, her fears were a reality. An over-fabricated, made-up news story.

_Innocent man found in Alleyway, brutally killed._

_Innocent._

She gritted her teeth, they felt like sandpaper but she couldn't control herself. Innocent? Nothing about that mad man was innocent.

There were so many thoughts running through her mind, so quickly she couldn't grasp them.

But he was dead. There was something so chilling about this. He was obviously not mentally aware of what he was doing, that lost look in his eyes would forever haunt her.

He needed help not a stab in back with a dagger.

But he deserved it and why should she feel guilty? Someone else.. killed him. To save her.

Who was there? It must've been his enemy; after all, no sane man carried a dagger around. And how was she all stitched up, in her apartment?

He must've known her. Or maybe he felt pity.

Perhaps he found some of her identification and the keys in her bag; it was the only possible explanation.

All of it made her head spin, the exhaustion returning.

She followed the news coverage for another thirty minutes, before she shut it off in complete disregard. There was nothing about the suspected 'killer' of the 'innocent' man. But they declared the police were doing their hardest to solve the crime and put the killer behind bars. The story was so twisted, had they not seen the signs of struggle at the scene of the crime? They didn't purpose any other possibilities.

She finally gained the energy to lift herself up and bathe. She noticed the inky bruises that scuttled along her legs already, black blobs with yellow splotches ringed around them they were accompanied by a handful of cuts along her arms and cheeks, she couldn't remember how she had gotten half of these cuts and bruises, it all had accumulated in just ten minutes. Overall however, she looked healthy. She could easily cover up the scratches on her cheek and cover the bruises with her long pants; she knew they were too serious to brush off as ordinary clumsiness. And the stitches, which she was still in awe over, were easily hidden as well, with bows or hair tied up in a lazy bun. She made the rational decision to keep this to herself, she knew the truth. And that was all that mattered.

In her mind, justice had been served. The mad man died. And she was alive. But.. the third person. With the moony eyes and strange super-man outfit. Well, it hadn't been a superman outfit. It was a dark color, maybe dark navy blue. But it leaned toward a purple color more.

Whoever he was, she would find him.

This sudden burst of curiosity ebbed along her, crawling in her skin. An itch.

How would she do it? She was so enclosed around her neighborhood. She didn't like going too far out into the city, too accustomed with the world around her, too adapted. She didn't know there were mad people, or killers. But reality smacked her like a lash, and it was so.. unreal. And almost unfair. It broke apart the content fairytale she settled into. Sure, working with old, valuable glass and antique things weren't the highlight of her existence. But it was nice. It was normal.

Her life wasn't what she thought it was anymore.

And the most terrifying part of it all.. was, that she liked it.

He had spent the remainder of the evening with his butterfly knife, flipping it in advanced patterns, the blade flashing along brilliantly. His scowl intact, anger and exhaustion fuming through him.

He had spent an hour pulling a string of floss in her skull; it was an alternative way to close her gashing wound. It was bloody and he was pleased with his handy work.

He deliberately carried her to her apartment, cradling her like some child and..

The thought extinguished, he smothered them.

Placing the butterfly knife down, he paced back and forth. It took him hours to meddle the dagger from the man's back. It had launched into a vertebra, and was surprisingly a very difficult thing to pull out. With further examination, he noted the man didn't die from the wound. Yes, it was embedded deeply but if he had lived, he would've been a vegetable for the rest of his miserable life.

It was the shock. It caused a heart attack. After he sank to the ground, he shook and moaned for a couple seconds, before murmuring something about his wife. Or ex. How rotten she was, how he loved her. And then, just like that soul departed from his carcass. It didn't sadden to him, that this man was gone; he would never wake to see the sun or hear the lulling hums of songbirds. He was gone.

By the time he ventured back home, a women walking her dog discovered the body. And minute's later police arrive. Then investigators. And just as quickly, the rats (media) caught on.

He was inflated with ego, pleased with the lack of evidence he left. In two months' time, his death would be stuffed in a box with thousands of other Jane Doe cases from decades ago that investigators didn't bother with. No one would care. He would be another nameless nobody slob.

And as his amusement fell, the thought of Collette arose from the pits of his mind; she found a way of creeping into his thoughts like a cold plague, contagious and chewing at him. How could one girl, one plain, obscure, little girl have such strength to fill the mind of a diabolical killer. Someone as diabolical as Chris.

He thought about her, she was a vapor and he tried to capture this nameless, invisible vapor with his bare hands like a mad man, just like the mad man he saw wither away because of his ex-wife.

Besides, there was nothing strikingly breath-taking about Collette. She was really ordinary. Really normal. Of course, there was no such thing as normal but if such a thing existed; Collette would be the poster child.

Her murky chestnut brown eyes, gleaming spheres that had no lucid beauty that commanded attention, nothing that reeled a man's eyes, and she was a ghost; pastel white skin. Her hair was thick and tangled. And she was weak. She gave up so easily, Collette had just laid, her hair piled up on the gravel, staring at the blinding street-lamps.

Was this why she occupied his thoughts? He had seen so many fights, so many people turn into causalities in the hidden alleyways, but none were as accepting as Collette was. She swung once and that was all.

Others refused to accept their fate, the prospect of death lingering, awaiting to strike them and wipe their existence off the earth, where eventually, their tombstone would decay and so would their being.

His thoughts about her dashed away momentarily, and Kick-ass sailed back. His obsession to kill. To bring justice to his father. His priorities belonged to them, Hit-girl and Kick-ass. He wasn't too worried about Kick-ass. But Hit-girl was fast, faster than fast. And Big Daddy had taught her well, she was brilliant when it came to handling weapons.

He had no time for Collette or the frivolous thoughts he had about how plain and little she was. Or how.. _enchanting_ it was to see her lay there, almost as if she were calling upon death, welcoming it.

_Damn. He was at it again._ He needed to end this. Why did he interfere with the conflict between two people he didn't know? Why didn't he just stand by? Laugh and grin in amusement, entertained at how frail and feeble she was. So breakable. So innocent and timid. So beautiful, she was.

He felt himself become over-whelmed in a eutrophic state, he felt his mind clashing, one side was devoted to her soft disposition and grateful for being there, and to know she was still alive was exhilarating. Another trial of his mind battered, anger fleeting and coursing along, shaking and throttling him. She was stupid, ordinarily stupid and ordinarily annoying. Pathetic. He knew he wouldn't stop thinking at her, why she laid there, like a complete dumbass. That glazed look in her eye. Why did she just lay there? She had a chance to get up, she could've made a run for it, her apartment was meters away. He wouldn't ever stop thinking about her, not unless he.. No. He couldn't kill her.

His mind was blazing, he would forget about her by next week. She would be that boring, stupid, plain, little girl he encountered in the alley. She was in his debt, however. He decided to let the thoughts of her soar away, he would soon forget about her. And they would never meet again in this bustling city and he would never, ever help such a helpless victim ever. No one that stupid deserved it.


	3. Chapter 3

He remained still, the buildings around him casted shadows that pulled together in ambiguous dusky shapes, he sought shelter in them, his wetsuit constructed around him tightly. This would be the first time he'd use a knife to kill, but he knew he needed to learn to use a knife as well, not just guns and fancy ammunition; they caused noise and at times ran out of bullets. His fist, however, never lost momentum.

His lips twisted into a smirk as he spotted the kick-ass imposter; there were so many of them now that he was beginning to make more appearances amongst the city, busting crimes, molding a name for himself, the people liked him, the goody-two-shoes act, the wannabe Superman coverage. Yeah, the bullshit that spoon-fed the crowds of people who had lost almost every ounce of faith for humanity, restoring a grain of hope, people aren't that bad, there are real life heroes, actual heroes who wore spandex and helped cats who were stuck in trees. He scoffed beneath his breath, people needed that escapism and it was truly pathetic.

As the kick-ass imitator tracked passed him, Chris ascended from his coverage, gripping his small flint knife in his hands.

"If you're going to waltz around the city dressed up as Kick-ass I guess you'd oughta act like him." Chris retorted, his voice firm and confident.

The man dressed in green turned in his tracks, "Uh. I was just messing around. Calm down, dude." His voice was nonchalant but as his eyes caught the site of the silver knife he stepped back, "Man, put that away."

Chris only stepped forward, "Don't worry, I'm just training. Using live dummies."

"I.. man, I'm not a dummy, like I said I was just messing around." His voice was more vulnerable now.

"You're not?" Chris laughed cruelly, "Don't worry, kid, It won't hurt all that much." His lifted his hand waving it, "It's really sharp, the blade, you see." He stepped forward, it was broad daylight which only toyed with his adrenaline, they were beside a more empty area of the pavement, there were a handful of spectators around, everyone bustling around like flies, no one paid much attention, some flicked their eyes upward, before glancing down as if it were nothing. Just two idiots dressed in costumes and reenacted a scene from a comic or something.

The man, dressed in green splintered down the nearest alleyway. What a stupid, stupid move. There was only more privacy and desolation here, which depicted the scene well. He ran before stumbling, as if he were a terrible actress in a low-budget horror film. Except it was all too real. "Man come on, stop, I'm not into that cosplay shit. 'Specially with that knife man. Who are you supposed to be anyway?" As he struggled to crawl against the cracked, narrow roadway Chris grabbed a handful of his loose, hair pinning him back painfully.

He lifted the knife; glowering at it as he held the impostor down with his combat boots which dug into his lower back, his other leg was launched against the back of his head, he was slightly disappointed, The real kick-ass would have been faster, resilient and the fight would have lasted for hours.

He flipped the knife against the boys flesh, beneath his chin where his neck was producing cold sweat, "The Motherfucker." He answered, his voice chiming a mocking ring.

* * *

Collette had spent much of her two days in solitude, even at work which was filled with her co-workers and customers, she felt empty and as if she were on a secluded island.

As she began dusting the more elegant chinaware, her hands graced each of the shelves with a defined focus; however, her thoughts were blank. Her thoughts revolved around catching the masked hero in the alleyway.

"Hey, Col!" Her all too perky co-worker was jittery, shaking from her coffee nerves and her voice was drumming in her ear, slowly subsiding before she repeated the high-pitched words, "Col?"

"Oh.. oh.. Um, hey Kelsey." She glimpsed at the girl, before continuing on in the act of restocking the small candy portions on the counter.

"The girls and I.. like, we were wondering, is everything all right?" There was not a drop of concern in her voice. And Collette knew she wasn't actually worried for her well-being, she was just too nosy for her own good.

"Yeah." Collette replied blankly, her face was drained of any emotion.

The red-head hovered for a moment. Expecting her to speak again, to continue on, it wasn't like Collette to be so.. bitchy. She had never acted like this; she was always a pleasant girl to speak to.

For another long moment, Kelsey stood, before retreating back to another girl, the supervisor. "I swear, she's being so self-serving today. Ugh." Although they were far enough away from Collette to speak aloud, she hissed these words in a soft yet vindictive manner.

The supervisor shifted on her feet, half-turning to scoff aloud, "No she's not. What's up your alley? She looks just tired. Maybe her boyfriend broke up with her or something." Her voice was casual; she had always enjoyed speaking to Collette or just being in her company in general, she had always been hard-working; serving others before herself.

"Boyfriend! Ha!" Kelsey turned away, muffling the giggles erupting through her lips using her hand, "Good one.." She shook her head, "Collette.. and a boyfriend." She wasn't able to contain the laughter any longer, hysterical giggles boiling out from her mouth; more obnoxious than genuinely amused.

* * *

He was preparing to dispose of the body, he knew if Kick-ass saw any of this on the local news, "Masked Hero devotee found killed in alleyway".. It would set off an alarm for him. And the last thing he wanted to do was draw this attention.

Chris lugged the body into his father's old warehouse it had been rebuilt months after the burning of the building, it had been abandoned however; Chris decided not to continue on in the family business, he handed the company off to his mother, who was still grieving, but he knew some of her sanity would be reestablished once he brought his father's killer to justice.

He tossed the corpse into an oven that had previously been used for rotten lumber wood and pulled the temperature up to a snug 400, he bolted the door shut before straying away; although the metal composing the oven served as an armor, it wasn't enough to stifle the odor of scorching flesh; it wasn't built for that, after all.

His body wracked as the stench leached out from chamber, "Ugh.." The grumbling clamor noise wasn't intentionally produced but it fell as a reflex. "God that reaks.."

* * *

She was alone now, only Kelsey to soothe her boredom, Collette was certain she was wired on espresso beans and gossip.

"Collette, seriously.. what's wrong?" She was so persistent. Sucking the patience from her; even nice people like Collette had their breaking-points.

"Nothing. I'm tired, let's hurry up and finish up. Do you mind turning off the light in the storage room? Be careful because there's a box of newly shipped figurines in there." Collette tucked her unkempt strands of hair behind her ear; she felt her bangs thinning beneath the layer of greasy sweat.

She heard Kelsey huff out an impatient sigh, as she stomped pass Collette, "Hey, what the hell is that?" Collette's eyes peered upward, adjusting her position in the chair she sat in as Kelsey came to a sudden halt.

"I'm sorry?" And before she could even complete the sentence, Kelsey's hands were buried in her hair, "Kelsey wha-, Ow, what, ah, owch." Padding down on the woven stitches, the lines along her forehead entrenched into a worried furrow, her fierce emerald eyes spoke for her, and finally her mouth cracked open, "What the hell happened?"

"I fell." The words were plain, spoken tersely, "Can you get your hands out of my scalp? Like.. Now." What was left of her friendliness was now gone, replaced with her subtle demand.


	4. Chapter 4

_( Yes, yes I know I haven't been updating, but I've just been juggling my school work with my recent role of Rosalind for my school's production of As You Like It; I'm so sorry for the delay but my school year is nearly finished; so I'll begin writing more and more ^_^ )_

* * *

The room was engrossed in a silent opulence, every possession in his room; even the walls were crafted perfectly, made just for him.

It was noon now, and the sun droned through his window, the only filter were the strips of curtains which barely covered the blinding bright rays. He was nestled in a deep slumber of sedated sleep, his sleeping schedule now was very chaotic and unpredictable, sleep had lost its gratifying fulfillment, he grew restless of lying in bed but sometimes he couldn't sustain those nights of sleeplessness and fell into an unintentional rest.

Chris now had so many new ideas, lately they had been plotting and plotting but he had no place to store them. Not even on paper could he depict these brilliant new designs.

His eyelids cracked open, burning and stinging from the intensity of the sunlight. "Damn.." He muttered, his tone of voice interlaced with a sudden irritation and ache for more sleep.

Now that his father was dead, he lived in a new apartment. An entirely different penthouse, the previous one was sketched with memories of his childhood. Although his relationship with his father was a materialistic one, he was his father and even if he was sometimes a complete ass; he did miss him at times. Of course, he refused to admit this to anyone. Not even his grieving mother who Frank had left a large sum of money to, in which she left the muddled city to pursue a life at god-knows-where doing god-knows-what with all of her money.

He didn't understand why his mother was so choked up on him anyways, Frank was always at clubs, fanning his money to other exotic-dancers and women, she was pathetic.

Propping himself up onto a pile of Egyptian imported bed-sheets, he snatched a small notepad from the side of his nightstand and a small pencil,

_Trap him in a building. _

The words were scribbled onto the paper in a small tiny print that would be considered illegible for anyone else to read, part from himself.

Grunting he struck through the sentence, how many times had he written this idea down? It was such an unoriginal plan, plain and boring.

He needed something different, something original.

* * *

The darkness of the approaching evening enhanced around her, concealing her in the silhouettes of surrounding banisters and drug stores.

"Are you sure you're okay?" The voice of Collette's one and only younger sister was sinking with worry.

"Yes.." Collette repeated, her words butchered in exhaustion.

"No you're not; I don't know why I even asked. You're obviously not.." Collette's mind dazed off, too many words..

"Daisy." Collette finally interrupted.

"What is it?" Her sister's eyes were power-driven with hungry questions, filled to the brim with heartache.

In this angle, she could see every detail in her sister's expression, the lines which were retorted and curled; wild with sudden concern.

Collette captured her sister's small, bony wrist in her hand, tugging her along like a defiant toddler before gesturing her to sit down on a nearby bench, where she proceeded to join her, "A week ago. Near the parking lot I was attacked." She decided to leave it at that, she wouldn't add any crucial details; not the ripping of her blouse or the stitches that she had nursed on her own, "I'm okay though. Because there was someone there. A man. In a.." Her voice was growing skeptical, every time she brought it up, it seemed to grow more and more ridiculous.

"Oh my god.. Col.. Oh my god.. Who? A man? Who?" The young blond was frantic, turmoil ruptured in her cracking voice.

"You're.. not going to believe it but.. a super hero.. Er, he looked to be a villain…" She paused briefly before unclipping her satchel; revealing a black drawing book, "Look here."

An abundance of drawings flashed before Daisy.

The drawings, from what she saw, were well-done. They were nothing special; many of them seemed to have been coaxed from her imagination, things she marveled at. It was evident Collette filtered her emotions through these drawings; they weren't amazing, in fact, she barely considered them to be 'good'. But there was a sense of movement in the lines. There was an aura of disturbance in the sketches as well, twisting the images into mangled sadness; the artist was someone who Daisy thought to be a happy person, she could never see her sister scribbling down these portraits of women with severed heads and distraught, helpless expressions. Was this how she felt? Was she a façade of forged laughter and artificial smiles?

"Him." Daisy's thoughts were paused as Collette spoke.

"Him. The man. I drew him. Him." Collette repeated in a dignified manner, the drawing was inked with an unusually awkward looking boy. Daisy had made the assumption that whoever this 'man' was; he did something heroic. The way Collette spoke; the gentle breeze of grateful undertone in her voice; framed with fondness as though she were mentioning someone she loved. And it was silly that he was so.. scrawny..

He wore an intricate costume, jockeyed with layers of spikes all along it. It was almost amusing.

"He saved you?"

"He did." Collette replied with a discreet nod.

"He reminds me of this guy everyone talks about." Daisy's voice was casual now.

"Who?"

"Ugh.. I don't even know.. Some guy.. The Motherfucker or something? So stupid.. He's like a 'villian'.. he like, dresses up, right? And he just goes around like that. Lame." She snorted a quiet laugh, "But I think you should report it to the police.. I'm glad you're okay, Col. I really am. You should have told me sooner.." Daisy's words faded off slowly.

* * *

There was both a flush of anger and gratification that coursed through him like a typhoon.

Somehow, his though process had steered into a solidified admiration for the girl in the alley, at times, he thought about her. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even to himself; as though the inner-workings of his mind would judge him with a bloat of criticism.

She would sail into his mind, his rotting anger surged into an obsession for her. But just as quickly as she was brought up into his mind, he kicked her out twice as fast.

He decided to have coffee at a nearby family-owned coffee house. It was nestled in the more 'sketchy' part of the city but he could care less, he could fight and if anyone was stupid enough to instigate a fight with him it would be their own idiotic train of thought that would leave that dumbass tangled in a cocoon of broken bones and black eyes.

Within an hour he sat alone at a booth, inhaling the aroma of espresso beans and cinnamon pastries. He no longer lugged around the body guard, quite frankly, it pissed him off. He understood the extra precautions and shit but what was the point? The only advantage of having a bodyguard up his ass all the time was the intimidated glances and murmurs that mostly related to things like_, 'he's probably part of the mob.. or something.'._

He sat semi-enthralled by a comic book that lay in front of him. The coffee he failed to finish was now losing the taste, but nonetheless, he enjoyed it.

"Oh.." A familiar, effervescent voice twisted in a struggle before a loud smack, a hard-back book tumbled onto his table, knocking the coffee out of place, before specks of hazelnut liquid poured out in rivers over his comic book.

"You idiot.. You fucki-" He began, his voice invaded with toppling fury.

"I am so sorry.. I was.. Oh gosh, I'm so sorry.. I'll pay for your comic, I swear.. I was rushing out of here, and I just, I'm so clumsy I couldn't keep a hold of the book.."

His eyes shot up like daggers, pin-pointing the source of the fumbling words.

It was her. Collette. An outpour of joy, mind-boggling anger, and confusion traced through him. "Uh.. it's fine." The sudden modification in his voice caused a flame of rosy embarrassment to tint her cheeks.

"No it isn't.. Look at that, it got all over your shirt!" Her voice was framed with an astonishing amount of guilt; her hands were shaking with culpability as she mopped up the pools of caramel-colored coffee; she continue to ramble, not offering Chris a chance to speak, so she continue to pursue in the matter of apologizing, "I just – Ugh.. So stupid, I'm sorry about your comic book. I'm sorry for saying sorry so much, I know it doesn't change that fact I ruined your comic book. Or your shirt."

There was a fleeting moment of silence, followed by Collette picking up the book she dropped while passing through the cramped aisle.

He wanted to speak, but words failed him.

"I'm Collette, by the way.. Sorry.. Again." As expected, she apologized once more, her words were now spoken clearly, and the sound of her crooking words, like a young pre-teen girl had gone away.

"Really, it's whatever.. This comic is really predictable anyways, it's not like I'm missing out on anything. The only redeeming quality was the graphics."

She stared; her eyes projected the deep thought clouding in the fore-front of her mind, "Sorry.. You just – You look like someone I know. But." She adjusted her arms, which were tightly knotted against her chest, compressing the book against herself.

Promptly, he spoke up, cutting her off before she could piece together the puzzle; he had to act quickly, early on he learned she contained a wit and acute intelligence that many lacked, "Yeah, I understand. Shit like that always happens. Yeah."

"Sorry.. I'm not usually like this. Except the whole dropping books and tripping on air.." A nervous chuckle attempted to soften the awkward interaction between the two.

"Nah, it's whatever." He restrained from running away from her; it was unlike him to dodge from someone as doleful as Collette; she was no villain, she had no fighting skill, she was so stupid that she probably didn't even know she was alive. And the fact that she left him tongue tied only added to the never-ending list of reasons why he wanted to slaughter her like one of those stupid kick-ass impersonators.

There was a dense discomposure suspending against the two. She felt wary of him; it was something along the lines of deja vu and becoming reacquainted with an old friend.

So the two continued to stare at one another, for a long measure of time until she salvaged what was left of her vocal cords, "I've gotta go.. But yeah, I'm sorry about the whole comic book thing." She pulled at the fabric of her scarf, leaving the monochromatic colors to hang loosely from her neck.

As she plodded away, he was left only with the dainty fragrance of her perfume in which he internally basked in.

In that instance, he realized, it wasn't Kick-ass who he needed to defeat. It was that _fucking_ Collette girl.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't hard to track her down, he compiled a list of places she visited on a daily basis. The Antique Shop, her home, and sometimes she would patiently wait outside of the high school her sister attended before taking her out to eat; he learned she was very reserved. He documented these things in a series of days, she was so damn boring and it seemed the only times she socialized where the ones with her sister or co-workers.. How could someone be so closed-off without being fucking crazy? She was like clock-work, a machine running on only one schedule and if she stumbled off track she would implode, over-whelmed by something different for once in her boring ass life. People like Collette made Chris bask in his wealth more and more.

But, observing her for this long only made it harder to exterminate her; sometimes, he would aim before his hands would begin to shake wildly, as though flu swept over him, a cool chill would wrap around him, caught off-guard by what a pussy he had become he'd stomp away, angry and betrayed by himself.

He was waiting for the right moment to kill her, but it was so difficult.

She really was harmless though, she didn't even see it coming. In the grand scheme of things, she was stuck in an ordinary world with ordinary people who worked all day and came home to their middle-class suburban homes. And in a sense, leaving her to live that constant lifestyle was worse than shooting her, and releasing her from that prison. In a way, he was doing himself a favor.

And a seed of pride grew in him.

* * *

He came close to doing it. It was nightfall, the sky a shade of mesmerizing purple which indicated the season of spring was rapidly approaching. It was midafternoon, and he was propped up on a barrel, still smirking at the fact she hadn't notice, so damn stupid.

His hands were trembling again, whenever his fingers skimmed along the trigger, guilt invaded him. "Fuck it." Blindly, he shot, a rain of bullets echoed in sharp rebounds.

Her window was open, and she had been immersed in the pages of a book, the same one from the coffee shop. From afar, he could see how some of the pages were dyed from the coffee that had spilled along it. And an uneasy resentment sped through him; he stooped beneath the ledge of the building.

The book fell from her clasped hands, and her lips scraped open from the fire of bullets; there were at least five he unleashed from the pistol. She made no sounds as she darted from the room.

He hadn't shot her, he wasn't capable of it, obviously. He had however shot her bedroom window. He'd only spooked her.

Chris knew these days of constantly watching her were hollow; he needed to find someone who could accomplish the task of killing her.

* * *

The rain was tranquil; it pelted the ground causing a pitter-patter sound; nature's orchestra. Anywhere else in the world, the rain would come as a pacifying melody, but, in the city, it pounded against the rooftops, the world throttled against the thunder and the profusion of trash always flooded the gutters, dancing in the stream of dirty rainwaters, leaving a collection of garbage to navigate out throughout the city. And instead of cleansing the streets, it spread the repellant litter farther out.

Chris watched from outside of his window, watching it circulate while people bustled to wherever they needed to go, gripping their umbrellas in the balls of their fists, fighting against the downpour, but to no avail the drops of rain coded the pedestrians.

"So, the bitches name is Collette, right. She's brunette, annoying as hell." He paused briefly, his eyes wavering toward the man writing all of this information down on a sheet of paper,

"Alright. How much are you paying me? This stuff isn't always easy.." The man rubbed his temples, as though the more he pressed down on his head, the more the migraine died down.

"30,000, but, I'm willing to negotiate.." Flicking his tongue along the front of his teeth he watched his expression alter from a dull exhaustion to a pleased eagerness; surprised at the large sum of money Chris had offered, he needed an answer; the quicker he got rid of the pest the quicker he could return to his Kick-ass project.

"Damn kid, I thought you'd give me 3,000.. But.. All right, is there.. a preference.. gun or? Because I only do gun and knife. No other way, anything else is too dirty and messy, I don't need the police knocking on my door, I'll snitch on you if I gotta."

Chris cut the man off with a bitter scoff.

Pussy. His father used this pathetic fuck as a hit-man to get rid of his snitches, the rats in the company that risked big money, for a moment he hesitated, this transaction would be a very thought-provoking one; and not because of the amount of money invested into it, but because.. Collette.. she was – cutting the thought off he responded with a sudden snap, "Gun, you little shit. If the cops come knocking on my door – which, you _bette_r make sure they don't – I'll get rid of you before you even reach a jail cell."

" A'right.. I can do it as early as tomorrow night. But I need the money tonight." He was unfazed by Christopher's vehement temperament; he'd seen these same characteristics in his father, except his father offered more speculation on why he wanted it to be done – he would do it, regardless of the reason, but there was always more insight with Frank.

"I'll get you the damn money for your cocaine, okay? Whatever, but you better do it right.. And you'd better do it fast. Don't waste any time, I want it to be done as fast as possible and clean cut."

"Kid, I never thought you'd do somethin' like this.. Not that it's my business.. But uh, why're you doing this?"

"You're right, it's not your business, so don't ask."

* * *

Hours later, Chris made the deal, transferring the money to Sid and he supplied him with more information about Collette; where she worked, her address, her age, ect.

The nerve-wracking shaking returned, but, it wasn't just his hands anymore. His whole being shook through this process, through this wait. He waited for the call, _It's done. She's_dead. But the wait was drawing him deeper into his insanity, the call that never seemed to come.

He told Sid everything he needed to know, apart from why he needed to be done so urgently. The idea of hiring Sid was born just that morning; once he realized there was only one sure way to get rid of her; he acted on that impulse.

He knew he wasn't capable of doing the deed; he had formed a bond with Collette; an unspeakable bond that she was completely unaware of. If she ever discovered who he really was, if she linked it all together it would lead to more trouble. He knew that it was best to just get rid of her completely – rather than letting this issue drag on. He would kill her off before she infected him more than she already had.

Initially, he was to leave her alone.

But of course, they lived in the same city, and although it was massive and seemingly endless; there was still that bulging possibility of running into her. It was such a distraction, she sponged away all of his thoughts, ideas, and plans; leaving his mind blank, etched with only the idea of her.

Beneath all of his animosity, he did like her. He barely knew her, and perhaps he was infatuated with the idea of her, rather than the actual presentation of her. The notion of her was something so fluctuating. She was a hologram of hopes and things he wanted in a person, a mechanically inuiried layout of what he yearned for; all bundled into one thing. He was blind whenever he thought of her – and that wouldn't do.

It still overwhelmed him.

It was different than the obsession he had for tracking Kick-ass down.

Far more different than the obsession he had for defeating Hit-Girl.

She was wedged between the violent and affectionate lobe of his mind. And until he had he dead, he couldn't rest.


	6. Chapter 6

_Wow it's been quite sometime. Summer has been quite busy for me. My computer was repaired the program I use to write my stories has just completely gone against me. But despite that, I'm back to writing and will be updating on a regular basis again - sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience and support. _

* * *

The peace was warranted, there was something so irrevocably broken now in her life. She witnessed the death of a man. And the guilt that dwelled upon her wasn't in his tribute but rather, the fact she felt good about it. Was it a sin? She hadn't killed him. Even if she had done so it would've been to defend herself.

She wasn't a bad person. Maybe bad things had happened to her, but that didn't mark her permanently. It would not define her. As her thoughts sunk away, she renewed her focus to the college application sitting upon her lap.

Colette had studied her current options – to either spend the rest of her life selling ancient porcelain or pursuing something more meaningful. And she had sided with her second option. And community college would assist her in this long journey.

There was a ring of sadness that encircled around her. Sadness wasn't a rarity, she had bridged into an unmarked territory of her mind. It was secluded and lonely. And she wandered about, confined there with nothing but beaten in thoughts of the dark alleyway and the grumbling man that was more of a victim than she was.

Daisy had become an antidote to some of these things – she was busy of course, with her own tangles of studying and school work. But when she did retreat to aid her sister, she did so in a realistic yet kindly manner. She didn't just pat her on the back and mumble 'it's okay' or 'it'll all be fine'. Instead she became a pillar of hope. But Colette restricted herself from telling anyone else all that happened, and when anyone asked what was wrong her response was always, _"Just tired._" or, "_Nothing. Absolutely nothing_." And although it was evidently a lie, no one would question her furthermore. And the conversation would stall momentarily before picking up about weather in a more extroverted manner.

She pushed the application aside, exhaling a plain sigh and midway through her advance a metallic sound damaged her thought process, followed by a shot and another, and another.. it was as though she lost her ability to count and blindly evicted herself from the scene. She had no time to collect herself but in an involuntary leap, cowered from the room. Her vocal cords rendered useless as she fell, scraping her bare knees on a carpet, a fleeting burn began to rot there. Colette grinded her teeth together, hoping a neighbour had heard, she couldn't bare to be alone.

Was it a misfire? Had someone mistakenly confused her with someone else?

She was alluded by fear, making her incapable of moving. No bullets had pelted her but it felt as though a grenade at shattered her sanity. Her breathing was labored and an uncomfortable tide of sweat settled along her flesh. For minutes she laid in the hall, plopped against a gap of carpet and wood-floor. Now remembering she had forgot her cell phone in the spare room Colette internalized her options - to crawl into the room and retrieve her phone, to call police. Or to lay in distress, hoping someone would pluck up the courage to help her.

And with a stray of internal courage, Colette lingered toward a cabinet near her bedroom - crawling on ground-level she rummaged through the drawer, before pulling out a handgun, her father being a member of the police force granted her many helpful things, including shooting lessons as a child.

Holding the gun in one hand she peeked through a curtain - to a building adjacent from her, an old storage facility. And a flick of dark purple was in her view. Similar to the purple she saw in the alleyway. Just weeks before.


	7. Chapter 7

Her emotions were cultivated by adrenaline, which acted as ammunition but acted as a drug more or less, she was engrossed with the prospect of catching this person; this villain.

Gnawing down on her lower lip, she ran her fingers along the outline of the weapon, a drop of reality kicked in. He was long gone now, perhaps lurking through darkened alleyways and there was no point in prowling about, flailing a gun around when she hadn't used it in years and forgot how to operate it.

Gritting her teeth, she picked at a bullet, examining the casing as she did so a loud pounding threw her aback.

"Colette?" A frantic voice begged aloud for entrance, "Colette we heard gun shots, is everything alright?"

Dropping the gun, startled she replied, her voice loud and stern, "Um.. yes." Quickly closing her bedroom door she retreated to her living room, unlocking the door, only to find an older couple who she was well-acquainted with, "Hello, Robert.. Hello Sally." She forced a smile, "Shots?"

"Yes, shots. Gun shots. Colette, are you alright? You're all sweaty and messy? Did someone try to hurt you? Should we call police?" The words were nearly incoherent, "Did you not hear the gun shots?"

Colette felt her heart hammering, she could barely comprehend the words spoken by the couple. Knowing she was lying and worrying them made her feel even worse, "Oh gosh.. Are you two alright? Gun shots here? I'm afraid not. I was working out.. listening to my music, I must have not heard.. the volume.. it was really loud."

They nodded slowly, the expressions that were fledged with fear lightened, "We're sorry to have bothered you. We're alright.. Yes. It must have been a mistake. Maybe someone in a different room. We're sorry to have bothered you."

With a nod Colette's smile twitched, conflicted with the exaggerated lie and her genuine appreciation for her neighbors, "Thank you though. Be careful."

The couple smiled, nodding before departing.

Closing the door behind her, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders, padding back in the direction of the bedroom picking the five bullets that rained down upon her just moments before.

* * *

_Chris POV:_

In a fleeting movement he soared, leaping from one roof to another. His breath heaving exasperated before he finally landed before his car, which exterior was now a darkened purple though red coded the outlying sides, nonetheless, it was a dream car.

Moments later he traveled at a momentous speed, silent fury boiled him. The lane was secluded. From a distance he could see Sid's car.

"Shit.. shit, shit shit." He nearly forgot, he was numbed by his irate state that he forgot about Sid.

Discreetly, he sought shelter in an alleyway. Pondering his next action.

Minutes later he sped along the lane, skidding in murky puddles splashing it about in the pavements. His breathing magnified, heaving and trembling as he entered the parking lot of the apartment complex he loitered just moments before.

From the corner of his eye he could see Sid's car, hidden beside a shadowy portion of the parking lot.

Grabbing his pistol he scanned the complex for any signs of him, nearly panicked now.

As his eyes shifted a sudden popping erupted, and smothered screams. He bolted in the direction, alluded by gut-wrenching regret and anger, accompanied by both sadness and a building denial.

He wanted to shut his eyes, turn back, hop into his car and completely forget about the last odd sum of weeks and all that had occurred, but that had become nearly impossible, he could never forget this. Any of it. It would mark him permanently.

Entering the open corridors, he could see Sid. His back faced him and without a thresh of emotion, Chris lifted his gun and shot him, the two fateful bullets entered Sid's spine and skull followed with a splash of blood that decorated the surrounding walls and doors before muddling a dark pools on the ground. His ears rung and a humming grew in them. Sid fell, twitched about like a lamb in slaughter. He hoped that in killing Sid his anger would appease. But it didn't.

Chris's eye widened, startled by his sudden loss of logic, "Fuck.. fuck. Oh fuck man." His hands flew against his head he paced down the hall, on the left an extension of rooms lay ahead. Where Colette was housed.

Sure enough, a body was sprawled about. From far away he could see the limbs, the arms all pale with little smears of fresh blood crusting in spirals against the flesh. From what he could see the assault weapon used was a gun, Sid always used guns. He was good at what he did. And now, his trouble was finding a new hit-man who he could trust and was sufficient enough to perform tasks given at hand.

His footsteps turned to quick strides as he obstructed himself beside the corpse, everything was a blur. He glared down at the girl. At Colette. But after minutes of staring, he began to laugh. The girl was a woman, an older woman. Who fit Colette's general profile, the brunette hair and height. Not the age, which he failed to inform Sid of. The laughing was nervous and dry, grateful but Chris refused to admit that.

He kicked the middle-aged woman's body before returning to the hall in which he killed Sid in. He needed to destroy any evidence that could link back to him. Grabbing Sid's phone he deleted his messages, his contact was under 'Josh' not even Chris. It was an alias. Every contact in Sid's phone was hidden beneath a different name. Though Chris found this to be exceptionally dumb, it was simple to trace calls and text messages. He left with Sid's keys, phone, and gun.

He cleared the car in minutes, disposed of the phone, and kept the keys.

Later that evening screams of horror rang in the corridors and by then, Chris was in his car. Nearly gone.

* * *

_Colette POV_

Somehow, her bundle of emotion subsided. But a knocking that progressed into banging woke her.

She timidly made her way to the door, cracking it open but when she caught a glimpse of a police officer standing in his polished clothes she forced yet another smile, "Hello Officer." From behind his masculine build she could see a gathered forensics team and eerie yellow tape and he stomach faltered.

"Hello, Miss.. May I come in?" His voice was gruff and he seemed as though he had been part of the law enforcement for years.

"Of course." She widened the door, gesturing entrance.

"I don't mean to intrude, as I see you've just woken up. But do you recall any disruptions last night?"

Colette held her pose, cool as ice, she shook her head, "Oh no officer.. Actually.. There were shots last night. I don't remember though. I was working out and the music was loud. Couldn't hear a thing, unfortunately." She offered a dainty smile, "Would you like a water or something?"

He shook his head, "I'm fine. But the shots were just outside your door. That doesn't add up much."

Colette's eyebrows shriveled in a knot, "No sir, um.. actually, a neighbor. She knocked on the door and I finally noticed. She said the shots sounded like they were from my apartment. But I.. don't.. there weren't any." She shrugged loosely.

"Was this neighbor Sally?" The officers lips were now thin.

"Yes.. um, why?" Something was wrong. Something happened.

"I'm sorry to bare anymore bad news, but, Sally was shot outside of your apartment last night. It seemed she was warning other individuals in this section of the apartments to be careful, that there were shots fired. Many admit they thought they hear them. But didn't report it."

The words were spoken softly, like a touch of wind. But were malice all at once. She couldn't breathe or input anything other than those words and sunk deeper into her chair, her facade along with her sanity shattered for a mere moment.


End file.
